


Clarity

by tea_and_violins



Series: Johnlock Song Fics [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, Reunion Fic, Slash, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 04:39:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_and_violins/pseuds/tea_and_violins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A one shot/song fic inspired by Clarity by Zedd ft. Foxes. Have a listen before or during :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clarity

John was wrestling with the shopping and his cane as he limped up the stairs to 221B, wishing Mrs. Hudson had not gone to her sister’s for the weekend. As much as he hated asking for her help, he was often in need of it. He had been living at Baker Street for a month now after Mary’s death from cancer, and it had remained mostly unchanged. Mycroft had paid for the wallpaper and drywall to be repaired from where Sherlock had shot at the wall, but the furniture had not been reorganized, and Sherlock’s old lab equipment had been put into boxes and stored in 221C years ago. The only object of Sherlock’s that remained in the flat was the skull upon the mantelpiece. Neither John, nor Mycroft, nor Mrs. Hudson could stomach removing it. 

John fumbled with his keys, setting the shopping on the floor outside their living room door. Not their, his, he reminded himself. He had the door fitted with a lock for extra security and gave Mrs. Hudson a spare key, ensuring her she was always welcome in his flat, regardless if he was in or not. Ever since Sherlock’s…ever since Sherlock he took extra measures to guard himself, unsure if Moriarty still had hit men trained on him, even while being dead as long as…even while being dead. John knew Mycroft kept a security detail on him, even though he never said anything about it. But John was a soldier at heart; he knew when he was being followed.

As he pushed the key into the lock, he was surprised to find the door was actually unlocked. Perhaps Mrs. Hudson had stayed home after all and had decided to tidy up his flat, despite the still frequent reminder that she was indeed not his housekeeper. Regardless, he pushed the door open slowly; reaching for the Browning he always kept hidden beneath his jumper when he went out, although Mary had always objected to its presence.

“Mrs. Hudson?” he called tentatively, and after a moment, he cautiously stepped foot into the flat, gun ready to draw at the slightest inkling of foul play. His limp had vanished, his gun hand steady. Slowly, he entered his living room, careful of his footsteps, avoiding the floorboards he knew would creak when stepped on, shopping all but forgotten in the hallway.

“You won’t be needing that, John.” a velvety voice said to him from his favorite chair, and John’s head began to swim, his legs giving out for a moment. It had been three years since he heard that voice, and he never dreamt he would hear it again, except in his dreams. The gun clattered to the floor and John hadn’t realized he had dropped it. It couldn’t be. There was no way this was possible. He had seen Sherlock fall. He had felt the lifelessness under his fingers as he desperately searched for a pulse. He watched as the blood pooled around Sherlock’s beautiful face as the only man he had ever loved stared back at him with dead ice blue eyes, those he had breathlessly kissed all too often parted slightly, not taking in the air as John screamed at him internally to just breathe, dammit Sherlock, BREATHE!

All these years of Mycroft meddling in his life and never once did the insufferable wanker think to mention that his brother was alive. Never once hinted that one day John would come home from shopping to find Sherlock sat in his chair, telling him to put his gun away. John made a mental note to punch Mycroft right in his smug face next time he saw him. 

John sank to his knees behind his chair, not willing to see if he was imaging Sherlock’s voice as he had so often done in the past three years or if it was really him. The latter option seemed too much to bear. His legs weren’t working anyway and he seemed to be unable to do anything but sit there as Sherlock’s tall, lean, wonderful frame rose from the chair and was suddenly at his side, those long fingers gripping his face, forcing John to look at him. It was him. It was Sherlock. It was Sherlock’s unruly black locks crying out for a haircut. It was Sherlock’s impossibly blue eyes staring into him as they often would before. It was Sherlock’s cheekbones, more prominent after years of not being cared for by John. Sherlock’s beautiful mouth, the cupid’s bow he had kissed and fucked. The mouth that told John I love you.

“Sher…Sherlock?” John questioned, still unable to fully grasp this reality. The reality in which Sherlock was alive.

“Yes, John. I’m home.” Sherlock said softly, and the tears John had not noticed forming began to fall freely from his eyes. He grabbed the lapels of Sherlock’s stupid coat and pulled the man to him, lips crushing lips, a kiss wet with saliva and tears. The past came rushing back to John with a flood of emotion. He tore at Sherlock’s coat, sending buttons flying as he pushed it off the man he loved, had never stopped loving, as Sherlock slid his long fingers underneath John’s jumper, pressing hand over John’s heart.

“John, John, John…” Sherlock murmured as he kissed John’s eyes, his cheeks, his neck, his lips. So many questions were racing through John’s mind. Where were you? Why didn’t you come for me? How could you leave me? I thought you loved me…

That last thought snapped him back to reality and anger began to seep into him. He pushed Sherlock off of him with enough force to send the man careening onto the back on the floor. John stood over him, limp returning, and began shouting.

“NO, NO, you do NOT get to do this, Sherlock! You can’t just waltz back into my life, into MY house, on my furniture, and into my heart without an explanation! Do you have any idea…ANY idea what I’ve been through? I kept thinking it would get better and I missed you everyday and it just didn’t. Every single day, Sherlock.” He was weeping again, and tears were forming in Sherlock’s eyes. He had never seen John so distraught. “I missed you much. So much.” John continued, the fight in his voice still breaking through his sobs. He tried to regain his breath, running his hand through his hair as he so often did. God, Sherlock had missed that. It was one of the little things that made John, John. John sank into his red plaid chair, head in his hands as he tried to gain some composure. Sherlock got on his knees and laid his head in John’s lap tentatively, ready to move at a moment’s notice. He needed John’s touch just as much as John needed answers.

“John” he began cautiously, pausing to let John protest, if he needed to, but Sherlock was met with silence. He continued, “John, everything I did, I did for you, for your safety, for our life together. I had to take down Moriarty’s network.”

“You could have come to me, Sherlock.” John interrupted. “I would have helped you. I could have-“

“I needed you to grieve, John. They had to see you distraught in order to keep up the façade of my death. They couldn’t see me coming, and they didn’t. Moriarty’s network was vast. If they had thought I was alive, it would have taken much longer to dismantle.”

John lifted his head to meet Sherlock’s gaze. They stared at each other in silence for a long while.

“Get out.” John said evenly.  
“John-“  
“Out. Now.” John’s eyes were steel and he was every bit the soldier.   
Sherlock had prepared for this outcome, although he had wished it hadn’t come this.

“Alright, John. I’ll go.” Sherlock rose from the warmth of John’s lap and the hard floor underneath his knees. He walked through the door and upon closing it, heard John’s renewed sobs.

~*~*~*~

John, please. SH

I need to see you. SH

Let me explain. SH

Don’t you think two weeks is long enough? SH

I missed you too. SH 

Every day I thought of you. SH

I saw you sometimes. When I came back to London. You saw me once. Looked right at me. SH

I’m sorry about Mary. Mycroft said she was a good woman, someone he admired. He said she was good for you. SH

I’m sorry about everything. SH

It’s been a month and a half, John. SH

I miss you even now. SH

You are a piece of me, and I you, even if you wish you didn’t need it. I need it. I need you. SH

Two months. SH

I see you punched Mycroft. Nice shot. SH

I love you John, and I will never let you go. SH

You are my clarity. SH

Mycroft tells me you need time. Take it. SH

I will never be able to express how I feel about you. The word love does not encompass it. SH

Three months. SH

I would give my life a thousand times over to save yours. SH

Sherlock, we both know I only lived half a life without you. Let’s talk. I’m ready. Come home. JW

I love you, John. SH

I know, you idiot. I love you too. JW

“Cause you are the piece of me I wish I didn’t need  
Chasing relentlessly, still fine and I don’t know why  
If our love is tragedy, why are you my remedy?  
If our love’s insanity, why are you my clarity?”

-Zedd featuring Foxes “Clarity”


End file.
